


five times webster cried, and the one time it was joe

by Julziebee



Series: five plus one series [2]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, always a happy ending my guys i can't do anything else LOL, but it's cute i promise, lieb is actually not hostile! breaking news, that's tough you want food?, this is basically webster being sad and joe being like damn.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25585747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julziebee/pseuds/Julziebee
Summary: David Webster is an extremely emotional person, so sometimes little things can turn into very, very big things. Part of it comes from him having a cushy childhood and everything handed to him on a silver platter, and the rest of it comes from him wanting to fix every fucking problem known to mankind. It’s cute until this shit happens--~~Somehow, the universe aligned just so in order for Joseph Liebgott to become David Webster's rock.Maybe the universe was doing them a solid.
Relationships: Joseph Liebgott/David Kenyon Webster, Past David Webster/Others
Series: five plus one series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1854343
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	five times webster cried, and the one time it was joe

**one**  
Joe thinks he should really take more time to look at the stars. 

He’s not a romantic, really, so he doesn’t usually seek out flowers or little cafes and such, but he can definitely appreciate the stars. He thinks it would be nice to go stargazing sometime, but his friends would laugh at him, so if he wanted to, he would have to go by himself or with a stranger.

Stargazing with a stranger could be fun. Joe doesn’t know much about the stars, so he would probably want to find someone who does, so they could tell him. Joe likes to learn, and there is so much to learn about the sky, it’s nearly endless. 

Right now, he’s on the back porch. He’s the only one home, and there’s a cigarette in his hand. He’s just looking up, not really thinking, just admiring. He doesn’t get to do this often, so he does the best he can to relax and soak into the feeling of being unknown to the rest of the world. It’s humbling. 

It’s humbling until the front door slams open, causing Joe to jump and almost topple over. It completely breaks his zen, and he’s about to chew out whichever of his friends decided to slam the door when said friend walks right out to the back porch anyways. Joe looks back up at the night sky.

“What the hell are you slamming doors for, Web?” He’s met with silence. When David gets angry, he’s never silent about it. Joe looks over, cautiously. 

Web’s face is red, and his hands are fisted into his shirt, white knuckles and all. His face must ache from how taught it is, and he’s curled up into himself. Joe has the half a brain to know that he shouldn’t touch Webster, cause if he does, the guy will literally explode, like a jack-in-the-box all the way wound up. Joe asks again, but carefully.

“Why’d you slam the door-”

“You don’t care.” Joe frowns.

“What’re you talking about, ‘you don’t care’? Of course I care. You being upset is never good, and I don’t wanna replace those hinges again.” Webster still doesn’t look up. It seems he’s intent on burning a hole in the grass below his feet. He’s trying his best to breathe slowly, and think rationally, but he can’t.

“I don’t want to talk.” He says. It’s dangerously quiet and articulate for someone who looks like he’s about to blow a fuse. Joe’s got common sense--he knows when to back off. 

“Alright. Suit yourself. I’m going inside.” He offers. In his head, it makes sense to let Webster sort out what’s got him so riled up on his own. To Webster, though, apparently not. 

“Will you just...sit here with me.” It isn’t a request. Joe pauses, halfway-standing, then sits down again.

“You gonna talk?”

“Are you going to listen?”

“Already said I would.” Webster frowns.

“Fine.” He says. “Fine.” He breathes, slowly, and uncurls his fists. He instead grips the edge of the porch. “You remember that huge project I was working on, for my Macro Econ class?”

“I do.”

“And so you remember that Cobb was my partner.” Liebgott sneers.

“Unfortunately.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Webster’s shoulders hunch more than they already were, which seemed impossible. Liebgott has learned, through living with him, that Webster is capable of many impossible things. Partnering with Cobb for anything was impossible.

“I was really proud. He actually gave his weight. I was surprised, he was a good partner.” Webster closes his eyes and breathes. “Yesterday we presented our projects and turned them in. Cobb and I did an outstanding job. We both felt like we owned the world. I considered going to get dinner with the guy to celebrate.” Liebgott shoots him a look. “Key word: considered. It didn’t happen. So obviously, I thought that project was behind me, Cobb was behind me, we did an amazing job, and I could relax.”

“Obviously not-”

“ _Obviously not_. Today I come into class and my professor asks to speak to me after class. I didn’t think much of it. Then,” Webster breathes, his shoulders fall, as does the rest of his body. His head falls, his hands fall, and even his tears begin to fall, like dominoes. “Then she tells me I’ve _plagiarized_ , that Cobb has the receipts, and that I got a zero on the project and I might lose my student teaching position, since the project was so huge and plagiarism is such a drastic offense.” His voice cracks when he says ‘plagiarized’, and it’s too much for Joe, so he looks towards the sky again.

“That’s shitty.” Is all he can say. In his head, he’s already thinking of asking Speirs about the most discreet way to kill someone. Webster glares at him, and then he’s yelling-angry-crying, and Joe feels a little threatened.

“That’s all you can say? ‘That’s shitty’!? That’s not how you respond when someone says everything they’ve been working for is suddenly about to be ripped away from them because of a _lie_! You say that when you spill coffee on your shirt. You say ‘that’s shitty’ when someone stands you up on a date. Not when they _lose their life’s work_!”

Okay. So, maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say. But Webster is also being dramatic, talking about his ‘life’s work’. 

“It ain’t your life’s work. But it is shitty. Cobb is a piece of shit.” He tries instead. Next to him, Webster is shaking with anger and distress, and Liebgott’s just looking at the stars. Web takes yet another breath, trying to steady himself. It’s one of the most shaky, wet, sorry excuses of a deep breath Joe’s ever heard.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know how...I’m a good student. I’m a good kid, surely they’ll listen...I have my work backed up, I--I can show them.” He reasons. Joe takes a drag of his cigarette before offering the last of it to Webster, who takes it and needs it. 

“Web. Take a shower, sleep, then figure it out in the morning. You can’t think straight right now with all your fuckin’ emotions. Breathe a little.” He says, and it’s good advice, but it’s coming from Joe. So Webster, still crying, stands up and storms inside.

Joe looks at the stars. 

**two**  
It was the middle of the day on a Saturday--normal people might even call it early, seeing as it was 11 AM. But to Webster, this seemed like the perfect time to work school stuff.

Joe is a normal human being, so Joe doesn’t get out of bed until around 1:30 on Saturdays. It’s the only day he can kind of relax, and he’s not gonna let extra sleep slip away from him by any means. But on this Saturday, he is up at 11 AM, and not because of Webster. It’s purely coincidence.

Also, Joe really has to pee. Like really bad. 

So he gets up and rushes to the bathroom. The adrenaline of, “Oh shit, I’m gonna piss my pants,” wakes him up fully, so he decides to make coffee. He makes his way to the kitchen and starts a pot of coffee, knowing that once the smell of coffee wafts through the house, all his roommates will be up. Joe’s convinced they have the biggest coffee machine known to man, and everyone chipped in to buy it because everyone has a caffeine addiction and shit is expensive.

From the kitchen, Joe can see David sitting on the couch, computer on the coffee table, books and papers scattered all around him like he’s in the middle of a fucking faerie ring. Except, instead of mushrooms, it’s books on marine biology and papers about psychology. Double majoring idiot. 

Liebgott glares at him from across the room, out of habit. Webster doesn’t notice, of course, because he’s too engrossed in his work and Joe didn’t make any noise. Even if he had, who knows if Webster would have looked up. Joe rolls his eyes, and the coffee maker beeps. As if on cue, Chuck walks downstairs. 

“Morning.” He greets. Liebgott nods at him, and sits on the counter next to the machine. Grant grabs two mugs from the cabinet next to the stove and places them next to Joe, who pours them both coffee. They both drink it black (which the rest of the house finds disgusting). 

“You sleep okay?” Joe asks. Chuck nods, and takes a sip, and groans.

“Yeah, but, sweet Jesus did I need that. Woke up with a killer headache.” Joe hums.

“Coffee is the panacea.” He says, smirking. Chuck laughs dryly into his mug. They sit in relative silence, drinking their coffee, looking over at Webster, who’s been sitting still for about three minutes. Usually when he works, it’s constant motion and furious typing, and no one gets in the way because they literally can’t. They have tried, all of them, to get Web’s attention when he’s working, but it’s a lost cause. But right now, he’s staring blankly at his computer screen, statuesque. Joe raises an eyebrow.

“Think he needs a coffee?” Joe asks. Chuck takes the last sip of his and then fills it all the way up again.

“Your idea, and your funeral. I’m going back upstairs.” He grabs a banana from the counter and then salutes Joe.

“Asshole.” Joe mutters as Chuck leaves the kitchen.

“Love you too, Joey.” Chuck calls back as he walks up the stairs. David is unfazed by the exchange. Joe pitties him. So he makes him a cup of coffe--a spoon of sugar and just enough creamer to make the coffee look like mud--and walks over to him. 

“Web, coffee.” He announces, placing the cup in a paper-less spot on the table and sitting down on the couch next to him. David himself is on the floor, back against the couch. 

“Thank you.” He means to speak, but it comes out as a whisper. Joe reaches down and ruffles his hair.

“You alright?” He asks. David leans into the touch, and part of Joe wants to pull back immediately.

“I’m almost done,” Web breathes, and Joe realizes then how completely exhausted he looks. His eyes are rimmed red and puffy, and his dark circles are purple. His entire face looks like it’s melting, and he hasn’t shaved in a couple days. His hair, Joe finds out, is greasy, and he looks like he’s about to keel over and die. 

“How long you been working on this shit?” He asks, peering over David’s shoulder to see what he’s writing about. Joe doesn’t understand it, really, but there is a very real possibility that he can’t read it because it’s all gibberish that Web is hanging on to cause he just wants to finish it.

“What time is it?” David asks, slowly, as he reaches for the coffee. 

“11:23.” David pauses with the cup in his hands and looks up at Joe. Joe doesn’t quite know what he’s supposed to do in this situation, and then he _really doesn’t know_ what to do when tears start to slip down Webster’s face.

“Jesus Christ,” He mutters as he slides down from the couch to really sit next to Web. “You’re killin’ yourself with all this work.” Webster bites his lip and looks down like he’s ashamed.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He says, and he sounds so broken that Joe wants to wrap him up in a blanket and keep him away from anyone or anything that could hurt him ever again. Seeing as he doesn’t have the blanket, and he _does_ have a reputation, he settles for putting a hand on David’s shoulder.

“Hey, no. No apologizing. You’ve just got drive, man. It’s respectable, but if you work yourself to death then it won’t pay off. Take a break, alright? Fuck.” Joe says. “And drink the coffee. It’ll help.” Web sniffs, huffs.

“Thank you.” He says again. He grabs his coffee cup and trudges upstairs. His shoulders are hanging, and Joe thinks he looks like the hunchback of Notre Dame. 

**three**  
The music was loud and pounding, and Joe was absolutely _loving it_.

Joe thrives in seas of people. He loves floating around and smiling, and the warmth that comes with dancing. He likes to have fun, and he likes to let go and unwind without knowing the people around him, all sharing a common goal to let loose. 

Currently, Joe is dancing with a cute brunette with short hair. She is taller than he is, and has a killer smile, and Joe thinks that he might want to get to know her if they were in a different situation. They were having fun, living in the music. 

Joe's been there for a few hours at this point, and his feet are really starting to hurt, but he feels so good and he looks good, and he doesn’t want to stop being weightless. He hasn’t taken any drugs, he doesn’t do that kind of thing, but he drank a little earlier. 

He feels weightless because he doesn’t have to think about anything other than the lights, the music, and this stunning girl in front of him. He can just let go--some people get anxious at clubs, nervous about themselves, but Joe’s got enough charisma for him and the guy next to him, so he never worries. Part of that is also not caring what people think. 

The song ends, and the girl smiles at him and walks away. Joe mourns the loss of getting to know her, but decides he should probably go home. He checks his phone, and sees three missed calls, and that it’s currently 2:43 in the morning, and yeah, that’s as good a time as any to get out of this place and go home. Joe likes to have fun, but he also realizes that he’s got responsibilities. He’s not stupid.

So he makes sure he has everything, and grabs an Uber to the house. 

The house--he lives in a house with a couple of other guys who are either working on more school (cough cough, Webster,) or guys who are just out of college but don’t really want to transition into adult life yet. Everyone pulls their weight in some way or another. Joe works at a barber shop down the way, and Malarkey’s a barista at the local Gloria Jeans. Popeye works at a Popeye’s, which everyone ribs him for, and although Webster is still a student and is ridiculously busy, he comes from money, so he pays up with no problem. 

No one quite knows what Grant does, but he gets money somehow. Joe jokes he’s a stripper, but Chuck’s yet to deny it, so actually maybe. 

They still live close enough to campus for Webster to commute back and forth between the house and school, which is just convenient for him since he’s the newest member to their little household. Joe likes his little group, so he was a bit hostile when Webster decided to join, and it kind of rubbed him the wrong way. It took awhile for them to warm up to each other. 

Joe tips the guy well. He himself used to drive a cab, so he understands that it sucks and good tips make it the littlest bit more bearable. He walks into the house to find Chuck and Popeye on the couch, playing Mario Maker. 

“Hey,” Joe says as he comes in. They both acknowledge that he’s there, but they’re both engrossed in building this new level. Joe takes off his shoes and goes into the kitchen to get something to eat, and a glass of water. He grabs half a donut from the dozen they’d bought the day before. “Why are you guys still awake?”

“Twenty-four hour challenge.” Popeye says. Joe then notices the ground below the pair is littered with Red Bulls.  
“Ah,” Joe says as he walks over. He stands behind them on the couch for a couple minutes. They have a very tricky map set up, and Joe can tell just by looking at this one part that he’s gonna hate playing it when it’s finished. 

“Oh,” Grant says, looking up for a second. Damn, he needs a shower. “Webster came home all sulky again. I think it’s something to do with his girlfriend this time.”

Of course. Liebgott rolls his eyes.

“Alright, well, I’ll make sure he hasn’t started writing a poem about it before I go to bed.” That earns a snicker from Chuck, and a chuckle from Popeye. Satisfied enough, Joe (and his water) walks upstairs to go change and get a bit of sleep. He changes first, and then climbs into bed, utterly exhausted. He’s sure he could fall asleep on the spot.

Then, he hears muffled sobs from the room next to his, which just so happens to be David Webster’s room. Joe really, _really_ considers ignoring it and just going to sleep. But, Webster’s his friend, plus he already joked that he would make sure he was alright. So, albeit reluctantly, Joe throws off the covers and goes next door. He knocks softly on the door, and the crying stops abruptly.

“What?” David asks. He sounds completely broken, and it makes Joe’s chest ache.

“Chuck told me you were upset, so I figured you’d need an editor for all the sappy poetry you’re gonna write this time,” He jokes. Webster doesn’t reply. Joe tries again. “Do you want company?”

“No.” Webster chokes out. Joe nods to himself.

“Alright. Get better, then.” He calls. He’s never been the best at reaching out to people, and he sure as hell doesn’t know how to comfort people, especially Webster. So, he turns around and heads back to his room. 

David Webster is an extremely emotional person, so sometimes little things can turn into very, very big things. Part of it comes from him having a cushy childhood and everything handed to him on a silver platter, and the rest of it comes from him wanting to fix every fucking problem known to mankind. It’s cute until this shit happens--which is kinda often. This is the first one in a while, though.

Chuck _did_ say it had something to do with his girlfriend though. Maybe ex-girlfriend, now.

No matter. He doesn’t want Joe’s help, so Joe won’t give it. He gets back into bed again and turns off the lights.

About a half an hour later, there’s a gentle knock on his door. Joe rolls over and glares at it.

“Whadda you want?” He mumbles.

“I…” Webster trails off. “Can--are you still--”

“Fuck, Web, open the door.” Liebgott replies, sitting up. Webster comes in and turns the light on, causing Joe to shrink back and cover his eyes. Web closes the door and awkwardly stands in the middle of the room.

“Uhm-”

“I won’t bite. Promise.” Joe jokes as he schooches over. David sits down and immediately begins to cry. Joe’s heart rate picks up and he puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“What’s the matter, Webster?” He asks, voice soft and open. Web frantically wipes his tears away.

“Cynthia broke up with me out of nowhere. I literally...I’ve been wracking my brain trying to think of what I did that messed this up but there’s _nothing_.” He utters. Joe looks on sympathetically.

“Maybe you weren’t the reason, bud.”

“She did it over text, Joe. That means she really does’t care. She didn’t have the decency to say it to my face. She didn’t give me closure, she said ‘I’m done with you,’ and that’s it. That’s it!” His voice is raw from crying, and he looks destroyed. He’d been trying to get Cynthia’s attention for years, and then it was ripped away from him. If Joe remembers correctly, they’d only been dating for a few months. 

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Joe says. He moves his hand to Webster’s back and rubs it. “I’m not gonna tell you to get over it, cause that’s just not how it works. But--actually, do you want advice, or do you just want me to listen?” Webster puts his face in his hands.

“I don’t have much else to say but I appreciate you listening.” Joe nods.

“I’ll go get you a beer, alright?” Webster laughs, dryly.

“‘If you can’t fight them drunk, don’t fight them at all,’” He says. Joe fixes him a look. Webster meets his look and shrugs. “My friend Hoosier says it a lot.” Joe just nods and goes downstairs.

If they both wake up in Joe’s bed the next morning, the floor littered with beer bottles, neither of them comment on it. Ever. 

**four**  
It’s a bad kind of quiet in the house. 

It was a bad day to begin with. Joe woke up and the day was overcast, which normally doesn’t bother him, but he had a gut feeling that it meant today was gonna be bad. He himself had a regular day--if anything, the barber shop had more customers than normal, meaning he was getting tipped more, but apparently everyone else had a bad day.

Malarkey had hot coffee spilled on him twice, and one of his coworkers called in sick so he did a double shift. Popeye got yelled at for getting an order wrong, but he was working the register, so it wasn’t his doing. Grant came home at six in the morning, that morning, and glared at anyone who tried to ask him if he was alright. Joe felt bad for all of them.

Also, no one had seen Webster all day. That never happens.

Malarkey, Popeye, Grant, and Joe were all standing in the kitchen and eating dinner when Webster finally came downstairs. He was wearing a blanket around his head and shoulders, and walked right through Malarkey and Popeye to grab a pack of fruit snacks, then left as soon as he’d come. They all watched him go, then Malarkey spoke up.

“Who’s on Webster duty?” He asks. Grant immediately nominated anyone that wasn’t him. 

“Lieb’s the best at it.” Popeye comments. Joe looked affronted.

“Yeah, and I’ve taken care of him the past three times he got depressed and shit?” Joe offers. Malarkey shrugs.

“Yeah, but, you’re the only one that can do it, man. The rest of us try but he like, opens up to you.” Joe rolls his eyes, but he knows they’re right.

“Fine, but you guys owe me.” He walks upstairs and ignores that he didn’t tell his friends what they owed him, because now they won’t do shit for him. He walks up to Webster’s door and pauses, then heads back down.

“Damn. Joe didn’t work. Who do we call now?” Chuck says into his bowl of cereal. Joe walks past him and smacks him.

“Dumbass, I’m getting him something to eat.” Joe explains, reaching into the cupboard behind Chuck’s head and grabbing a Cup O Noodles. 

“That’s nice of you,” Popeye comments. Joe shrugs.

“I get hangry during mental breakdowns, so he probably does too. I know _you_ do,” He says, pointedly, to Grant, who in turn rolls his eyes and walks away from the kitchen, talking about a “Discord call” he was supposed to be on. Joe puts the noodles in the microwave and sighs.

“It’s kinda weird that you’re the only one who can calm him down since you’re also the one that riles him up the most.” Malarkey says. Popeye nods in agreement. Joe looks at his feet.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense to me either.” The microwave beeps, and he grabs a fork and mock-salutes his friends before heading up the stairs.

This time, he actually knocks on the door. Webster mutters a, “come in”, and so Joe does. They have a pattern at this point--when one of them gets upset, the other comes to sit with them and brings comfort food. Web moves over on his bed so Joe can sit down, and takes the noodles, and Joe can almost see some of the tension seep out of his friend’s shoulders, but it’s short lived. 

“I heard you all downstairs.” He says. Joe freezes. Webster tenses.

“We-you know we-” Joe tries, but Webster cuts him off. 

“It doesn’t matter.” He says. There is no emotion in his voice, not even anger. Whenever he gets upset, he gets emotional. No emotion is frightening.

“David, are you okay?” Joe asks. 

“What do you think.” David says. Joe leans all of his weight onto one arm, the arm away from Webster. 

“Okay, well. You know how this works. I can’t talk to people, you gotta do that on your own.” Webster nods. He does know, but he can’t talk right now. 

“There’s nothing to say.” He utters. Joe scoffs. 

“Bullshit. You always have things to say,” Joe says. He runs a hand through his hair. David copies the movement. 

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you.” It comes out as a whisper, broken, and wet. “I just can’t.” He takes a bite of his food, and Joe doesn’t know how to react. Webster always breaks, almost immediately, so this is sort of uncharted territory. 

“Alright. If something comes to mind, tell me.” Joe says. He moves so his head is in Webster’s lap, and he closes his eyes. After a few minutes, a hand makes it’s way into his hair, and Joe feels like a cat. Webster sighs as he rakes his fingers through Joe’s hair, and Joe almost feels guilty that he’s enjoying this. But, Webster’s breathing is becoming more even, so Joe’s helping. Or, at least he thinks he’s helping, until he feels a tear drop onto his cheek. The hand leaves his hair, and Joe opens his eyes to see that Webster has turned his head away from Joe, and is covering his face with his hand. Joe sits up.

“Hey, David, what’s the matter?” He asks, voice heavy with concern. Webster shudders, and attempts to stifle a sob.

“I feel worthless.” He chokes out. Joe’s hands immediately got to David’s wrists. He pulls David’s hand away from his face, but his eyes are still closed.

“Web,” he says. “Look at me.” He doesn’t. Joe grips just a little tighter. “Please,” he asks, quiet. Worry falls over the room as well as Joe’s face like a thick layer of dust, in a room locked away and untouched for years. David opens his eyes, and some more tears escape as well.

“You are not worthless. Why do you think that?” He feels Web try and pull away, but Joe does not let go. “Why would you think that?” He pleads again, quieter. The flood gates break, and Webster’s words pour out of his mouth along with the tears in his eyes, and Joe doesn’t know how to focus while still treading water. 

“I am. I’m a burden. I don’t work, while the rest of you have jobs and put in effort for your lives. I just follow in the shadow of a great man and a powerful woman, and I’m expected to do everything they’ve done and more. But that’s not what’s bothering me, not right now at least. Sometimes it comes out and takes the chair out from under me but I am _no_ t letting that get to me today. I just...I was already feeling terrible today. I haven’t made any progress in my independent studies and I have classmates leagues ahead of me, and I know no one is telling me, but I can feel that they’re losing faith in me. I can tell that they think I’m not cut out for this. But I know I am, I know that if I just have a little more time I can come up with something...something worthwhile. Something that will make people respect me, that will demand respect without my saying so. But right now I have nothing. I live in a shitty house with four other guys who don’t know what the hell they’re doing--” Joe recoils slightly. “--and there’s still no guarantee that any of this college, all of this work that I’ve poured my heart into is ever going to pay off. And then,” He pauses, and breathes, and looks directly at Liebgott. “I heard you downstairs. And that just...God. You all don’t want anything to do with me.” He takes another breath, still looking directly at Joe. 

Joe doesn’t know what to say. He wants to tell Webster that he would do anything for him and is impressed and inspired by him every day. He wants to tell Webster that he would offer him a home and a meal whenever he needed it, and he would offer a safe space. He wants to tell Webster that he is not worthless, that he is priceless and Joe wants to hold onto him forever. But, Joe’s no good with words.

“You’re not gonna say anything, are you?” Webster taunts. Joe stares at him. Webster scoffs. “Yeah, what did I expect, huh?” He looks at Joe, icy and broken, and still hopeful that he’ll say something, but that fades as soon as it has come. “Get out of my room.” He hisses. 

Joe leaves.

 **five**  
Their entire relationship is thrown off-kilter, and the rest of the house can notice. It’s an incredibly visible change.

Webster avoids Joe at all costs. When they’re both in the room, Joe looks like he couldn’t care less, but when Webster’s back is turned he looks hopeless, and searching for an answer. But they don’t even speak. Usually, if they are angry, it’s vocal. They yell back and forth, and sometimes the rest of the house worries that they’ll get physical. They haven’t, yet.

But after a week of this, sulking and longing, Chuck pulled Popeye and Malarkey aside.

“You guys notice all this,” He waves his hand around, trying to get his point across. “Fog?”

“When did you become a poet, Grant?” Popeye asks, leaning against the kitchen counter. Chuck rolls his eyes.

“For fucks sake, we gotta do something.” He pleads. They both nod.

“Well, maybe it isn’t the best idea to force them to talk.” Malarkey suggests. Chuck shakes his head.

“No way. They’re both too petty to do anything unless they have to. And, c’mon guys, they were just starting to get along.” Malarkey nods.

“So, how about that bowling competition that you and I were invited to?” Popeye says to Chuck. “And you, Malark, your extra shift? Right?” He says. It clicks for both of them.

“Right, yeah. That bowling tournament is...when, again?” Chuck asks. Popeye smiles.

“Right now. Malarkey, will you inform Mr. Yearning and Mr. Petty of our absence?” Malarkey nods.

“Of course.” He leaves the kitchen and walks upstairs to Joe’s room, and knocks on the door.

“What?” Comes the voice from inside. Malarkey rolls his eyes.

“I’m leaving ‘cause I have to go do an extra shift. Pop and Grant are going to this bowling tournament that Chuck was invited to, by Shifty, and because Talbert’s gonna be there he doesn’t want to go alone. So he’s dragging Popeye with him.” Malarkey explains. It’s a damn good lie, and he’s a damn good liar.

“Okay?” Joe says. 

“Just thought I should let you know.” Malarkey explains. When he gets no response, he moves to the next door, Webster’s door, and relays the same information.

“Alright, thanks for letting me know.” Webster says. It makes Malarkey feel a little bit guilty, but it’s for the greater good. If any of them want to live in a semi-hospitable environment again, Webster and Liebgott need to figure their shit out.

Joe hears his three friends talking as they leave, chatting about bowling, a sport that none of them have taken an interest in, ever. Since when did Talbert bowl? And on a team? Joe figures out pretty quickly that something’s up, but still lets out a breath of relief when they leave.

He doesn’t know what to do. If he waits too long to talk to Webster, all hope is lost, but he doesn’t really know _how_ to say it yet.

He stands up from his desk and computer and walks downstairs to make pasta. As the water boils, he leans on the counter next to the stove and just breathes for a minute.

He misses Webster.

He would never, ever in a million years admit it out loud, but fuck does he miss Webster. David is stupidly smart, and with that comes his sharp wit and sharper smile. He is a problem solver and creative. And he’s a good person to talk to. He’s just a good person all around, and Joe misses having that so accessible and private to him. 

He hears David walk down the stairs before he sees him. Then, his brain catches up to him, at how suddenly convenient it is that he and David are alone in the house.

“Bastards,” He hisses, and Webster shoots him a look, but doesn’t say anything. Joe carries on. “I bet you figured it out the moment Malark told you they were leaving.” Webster doesn’t look at him.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He replies, floating around Joe to get to the fridge. 

“Yes, you do.” Joe says, getting increasingly frustrated. Webster scoffs.

“Even if I do, I don’t want to. I don’t want to talk about it. It’s your fault.” He declares, pulling out leftovers from the night before when they got Chinese food. He reaches above the stove to the microwave, avoiding Joe’s incredulous look the entire time.

“It’s _my_ fault--”

“Yes. It’s your fault.” Webster’s voice keeps the same intensity while Liebgott begins to climb in pitch and volume. Webster looks at him dead on while he speaks--yells.

“It’s not my fucking fault. It’s not my fault that you’re not mentally stable. That’s not my fault--not my fault that you’re in this gloom either. Woe is me! Joe Liebgott didn’t respond fast enough to me pouring my heart out, I’m gonna pout about it for a _week_ -”

“Watch it.” Webster says, same tone, but narrowing his eyes.

“No, I’m not gonna stop. You know why they left the house? There’s no bowling shit, they just knew that if we were alone we’d blow up and maybe someone would break.” He accuses. Webster raises an eyebrow.

“Of course I know that. Why do you think I’m not engaging with you right now?” He asks. Liebgott is enraged. “You took advantage of my vulnerability, and you should not expect me to forgive you once we yell at each other. Not this time.”

“Jesus, do you hear yourself? I didn’t take shit. You, it was your choice, told me that shit. It was your decision to open up to me, I didn’t _take_ anything-”

“Then it doesn’t matter because you won’t apologize and I won’t forgive you.” David says. Joe explodes.

“Fuck, yes it matters! You’re stomping around the house like someone kicked your puppy--then made you kill it. You’re acting all high and mighty not talking to me but I know how much it hurts you.” Joe shouts. He walks right up to Webster, right in his face. “You hate this just as much as I do.” He spits out. Webster turns up the corner of his mouth in disgust.

“Even if you’re right, I still won’t forgive you.” He says, but his eyes dash away from Joe’s for a second. He’s unsure.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness!” Joe yells. The microwave beeps, and Webster takes the food out, and sets it on the table behind him. 

“What is it that you want, then?” Webster asks, and folds his arms. All of Joe’s anger fizzes out and he stands there, in the middle of the kitchen, again not knowing what to say.

“Will you just...listen to me? Please?” Joe asks. Webster crosses his arms and nods his head forwards, allowing Joe to continue. “Right. Fuck. Okay. I don’t want forgiveness for that, that’s true. I just...I--I’m not good with words. In that moment a million things were going through my head, things I wanted to say to you, things I wanted to do. I just couldn’t will myself to...do.” He tries. He bites the corner of his lip and looks down at Webster’s socked feet. “I tried.” 

“And?” Webster says, one eyebrow raised, unimpressed. Joe gawks at him.

“And!? What else do you want me to say?” Joe yells. Webster flinches back.

“You know.”

“I _don’t_ -”

“Pbft, come on now. You do.” He looks down at Joe expectantly. It dawns on him and he rolls his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He says, and then it all starts to flow, like he broke a dam. “I’m sorry I couldn’t respond to you. You’re not worthless--I wanted to tell you that...that you’re priceless. To me, anyways--” That gets David’s attention. His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, eyes wide. Joe leans against the counter with both arms, and looks at the floor. “I think you’re...good. I think you’re talented and passionate. You motivate me to work harder. Don’t ask me to fucking repeat myself because I won’t,” He interjects when Webster opens his mouth to say something, then abruptly shuts it. “You’re just...נעס.” Thank God Webster doesn’t understand Yiddish yet. 

“What does that mean?” Webster asks, breathless. Liebgott pauses.

“Miracle. You’re a miracle.” Joe admits. Web steps toward him. Joe looks up.

“Don’t fucking act like that made it all better.” He snaps. Webster draws back. 

“Well, I mean, it did. That was a good apology.” He counters. Liebgott looks at the floor again. It’s silent for a few minutes, but then the water is ready, so Joe dumps the box of pasta into the pot, and when he turns around, Webster’s lips are pulled into a frown and he has a hand covering his eyes.

“What?” Joe asks, rushed and harsh. He can see the skin on Webster’s forehead wrinkle when he says it.

“You’re overwhelming me.” Webster breathes. “I don’t know what to think.” He says. Liebgott fidgets with the hem of his shirt. Webster moves his hand away.

“If it means anything, I feel the same way about you...priceless.” He confesses. Liebgott’s palms start to sweat.

“You…”

“Yeah.” Liebgott crosses the kitchen in one stride and is directly in front of Webster. His heart is beating so loud he’s sure the other man can hear it. Carefully, he reaches out for Webster's hand, and when he looks up to his face, he’s crying.

“Jesus Christ,” He whispers. There’s no need to shout anymore, since they’re this close. “Why are you crying now?” Webster smiles.

“You,” He says, sweet and light. Liebgott feels his face flush, and then feels the press of Webster’s lips on his own, then kisses back with the same amount of need and relief.

He feels like he’s floating. One of Webster’s hands grips his arm, and Joe snakes his arms around David’s waist. This is not how he thought this was going to go, but he’s not one to complain. 

**six (plus one)**

Webster is still getting used to being so intimate with Liebgott, but it is a more than welcome change and he’s really excited about it.

Joe is really gentle when he kisses. He’s very loud and passionate when he’s with his other friends, but when he’s with David, they weld together and Joe almost becomes an entirely different person. The reason David says “almost” is because he knows Joe at this point, in and out, and knows that it isn’t a different or true form of Joe Liebgott, just guarded, and patrolled. 

This time, the change in their relationship was not as noticeable. Chuck caught on quickly, but that’s because he also knows Liebgott really well, and could tell something had happened. They still bickered pretty much the same, with the same amount of passion and energy, but it was shorter, and not as accusatory. 

Chuck started to notice little things. Gentle touches on the lower back, or on the shoulder. Liebgott making two cups of coffee in the morning. Webster asking Liebgott to edit and review his papers. Things that, to anyone else, would seem like nothing out of the ordinary, but Chuck had a watchful eye and was suspicious in nature. He didn’t comment on it though, only shared a look with Liebgott one afternoon and then they both went their separate ways. 

Chuck gathered that this change seemed good, and there was no need for him to stick his nose in it...he didn’t particularly want to either.

One night, a couple months after that fateful kiss, Webster came home from a late night lecture. It had started at eight, finished at ten, and then he had to wait half an hour for the bus, so he was tired. But his brain was buzzing with ideas and trying to understand the new concepts they’d been taught. It had been an interesting lecture.

He comes home humming and sets his bag down on the couch next to Malarkey.

“Hey,” he greets. “What’s up?” Malarkey groans.

“My feet are killing me. Popeye will be home at like midnight. Grant’s already asleep, he barely made it in the door. I think he caught something,” Malarkey cracks his neck then stands up. “What’s up with you? You seem pretty lively for the middle of the night.”

“Mm, it was an interesting lecture. Do you wanna hear about it?” Webster asks, eagerly. Malarkey shoots him an apologetic smile.

“Uh, maybe tomorrow. I can’t really process anything right now.” He explains. Webster nods.

“So, why aren’t you asleep?” 

“I didn’t wanna risk going upstairs.” Webster laughs, but when Malarkey’s face doesn’t change, his falls.

“Actually? I thought you said Chuck was asleep--oh.” 

“Yeah. ‘Oh’ is right.” Malarkey shakes his head. “Please make sure he’s okay. I don’t know what ticked him off this time but it seems to be pretty bad.” David smiles at him.

“Of course.” He walks to the kitchen and grabs a package of bagel bites from the freezer and makes some for Joe. After they’re done, he fills a cup of water and pads softly up the stairs to Joe’s room. Seeing as his hands are full, he can’t knock, so he speaks.

“Joe-”

“What the fuck do you want?” He replies, harsh and demeaning. Webster has seen the worst side of Liebgott, so he isn’t unnerved.

“I just brought you some food, is all. Do you want me to leave them here for you, or come in?” He asks, lightly. He hears Joe shuffle around in his room, and then walk to the door. It opens with a soft click, but Joe only opens it enough so David can’t see into his room. He looks down at the bagel bites.

“Thanks,” He bites, gruffly. He grabs the plate and the water and closes the door again, leaving David standing in the middle of the hall, empty-handed and not sure what to do with himself.

“Joe,” He tries again. “Can I come in?” He asks. 

“No.” Joe barks. “I don’t want anyone in here right now.” 

“Do you want to come into my room?” He offers. Joe considers it.

“No. Well--yes. Let me finish eating first.” Webster nods to himself.

“Okay, Joe. Take your time.” Webster relents. He walks back to his room and closes the door, but not thirty seconds later there’s a tap on his door. Liebgott walks in without saying anything, and sits next to David. Joe’s wearing one of David’s sweaters, and a pair of boxers. David’s sweaters are too big for Joe because David has broader shoulders, but neither of them mind. 

“Hey-” David coos, but it’s all he can say before Joe flops onto him and hugs his waist, and it doesn’t seem like he’s planning on letting go. Webster chuckles and runs his hand through Liebgott’s hair, who sighs in response. “You okay there?” David asks. 

“No.” Joe mumbles into his thigh. Webster waits for him to continue. “No, I--my head’s all…” He makes a noise to mimic an explosion, and Webster chuckles again.

“How come?” He presses. Joe squeezes a little tighter. “You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to.” 

“I’m such an asshole.”

“What? Where did that come from? Did you do something?” Joe scoffs.

“Jesus fuck, Webster, calm down. It’s not--” He cuts himself off, and Webster is patient. “This is my point. I just...lash out at people.” He explains, and brings his knees up so he’s more-or-less curled around David. 

“You’re just passionate.” Webster reasons. Joe rolls his eyes.

“No, you’re passionate about shit. I just jump to conclusions and make an ass out of myself. I’m just a bad person to be around.” He argues. Webster frowns.

“You’re not a bad person, Joe--”

“That’s not what I said--”

“It’s what you implied--”

“Will you let me dictate my own fucking breakdown? You’re not inside my head,” Joe snaps, propping himself up to shout in David’s face. As soon as the words leave his mouth, his entire face falls.

“I’m sorry,” He chokes out. He sits up, so he’s facing the wall. “I’m freaking out.” He sobs. Webster reaches out for him.

“Oh, dear, no. You’re okay, alright? You’re just fine. I happen to like you the way you are, but if you don’t, that’s a completely different story.” He pulls Joe’s hands away from his eyes, and kisses away a stray tear on his cheek. “Is there anything that caused this?” He asks, and Joe lets out another sob.

“You’re too good to me,” He cries. “I just...all I do is yell at you. And like, yeah, you yell back but so do I so it’s--I just,” He turns and buries his head in Webster’s chest, and David’s arms are around him immediately.

“Hey, that’s just how we work, okay? I don’t think of you any less for it,” He soothes. He rubs circles into Joe’s back with one hand and plays with Joe’s hair with the other. “Breathe with me, okay? You’re right on top of me, feel me breathe, okay? Count with me.” They count together, and begin to breathe again, and the entire time Joe is white-knuckling David’s sweater. Once Webster think’s he’s successfully calmed Liebgott down, he speaks.

“Sometimes I get stuck in my head like that. You know, you’ve seen it. Everybody goes through this type of stuff, okay?” Webster kisses the top of his head and smiles down at him. “I still think you’re wonderful.”

“That’s great, but--” Joe sniffs. “I just want people to know that I’m not an asshole all the time. I’m not, I just get defensive.”

“You can work on showing a softer side to people. I know you have this reputation, but people change.” Joe looks up at him, and Webster smiles down. “This would be a good change, I think.” A hint of a smile ghosts Liebgott’s face.

Good changes are more than welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed!!


End file.
